As the month of November comes to a close, a group of women from church gather for a night of discussion and mending. Some of us bring along needles and thread and hole-in-the-knee clothing to patch, or hems to take up, and some of us come with heart-full sorts of mending, too: spiritual and soul-full concerns that could use time and attention.

At the gathering, a few people stitch. Some use safety pins. Others use tape to repair projects they brought along. 

We read aloud, and each woman shares wishes for things that need to be healed in her life. Most everyone agrees that relationships are in need of tending. Sometimes bad habits need some attention, too. Oh, and the usual lists...the worries that crowd close during the holidays: health, homes, incomes, safety, and so many other issues.

It's a reminder that holidays aren't always a time of celebration. Some lives are broken or bare. People are struggling with poverty, addiction, relationships, housing, jobs, illnesses and other crises. Certainly our own family knows the truth of struggling for reasons to be glad or grateful...

Homeless shelters fill up in the winter, under strains of seasonal expense, escalating domestic tensions, and due to many other losses. Food pantries give out whatever groceries and necessities come in, so families may eat. Caregivers pay extra attention to families and seniors at risk. Toy drives remind us that sometimes people cannot even fill a child's magical wishes, though they would like to be able to do so. Twelve-step meetings are jammed with people trying to stay sober and safe. Emergency rooms are the last....or perhaps the first...refuge of desperate folks who need something...hope, help, health or maybe a little heat on a cold night. Blood banks run low on blood and platelets, and seek additional pints from willing donors. 

Those who can help, do so. Shelves are stocked. Gifts are wrapped and made available. Shelters find space. Lonely people receive calls, cards or visits. Meetings continue, even on holidays. Hospitals are open, regardless of the hour or day. Donors give blood and platelets, and transfusions save lives. 

We try to mend what is broken in the world, in whatever ways we're able. Sometimes it's enough. Sometimes it's not.

In our circle of women, we have all experienced losses. Deep ones. Some that seem beyond hope of mending. And yet, we're all in this room. Somehow, we have words of encouragement and wisdom for each other. Just the acknowledgement that reconciliation and healing isn't easy...or fast...or even always possible. But that the possibility is there...and the desire to make the attempt is the first step. The first stitch, if you will.

We have all recovered from the first of the end-of-year holidays: Thanksgiving. Some folks traveled. Some cooked. Some served others. Some had joyful experiences, or just quiet and comfortable ones. Others had days full of conflict and tension. Everyone is winding down from this month's high holiday, and all of the ones that came before it, layered underneath as memories. 

Traditions continue to change in our family. We try to navigate between old rituals and new ones...although nothing feels quite right. Its all second-best, somehow, though we try hard. We cannot settle on a way to get through the holidays...but somehow, we do. And it's not as bad as we worried it might be. In fact, it might even have been okay. Tasty. Good. And fun.

For instance, the three of us are together. Sarah plays in the pep band, and we cheer during the annual rival football game between Ipswich and Hamilton, which our home team wins by one point (phew)! We make traditional recipes. Hang out. Watch a movie. Talk to family. Walk around the neighborhood. 

Always, we miss Jessie. We don't even have to say it out loud. It's just a constant ache, and a palpable emptiness. But we give ourselves permission to be happy...to spend the holiday focused on each other, and how we're celebrating, and making some new memories that are good ones.

Over the weekend, we cut a fragrant evergreen tree and put up Christmas lights, and listen to Advent songs. We light the season's first fire in our hearth. Dusk comes early, and often we have candles flickering at the dinner table (when we find chances to sit down to a meal together). The dog follows us from room to room, and Sarah's guinea pig (adopted as a rescue animal just one week ago) is getting more sociable every day...chittering and keeping an eye on our activity, and settling down under her ministrations. 

It's not the same as when we had four living family members, and our traditions included Jessie. For instance, we set the table differently...mom sits where Jessie once sat, closing the gap, though never filling her place. 

We remember all the holidays that came before this one. Our own gatherings as children. Our history of shared Thanksgivings as a young married couple, spending them with extended family. The start of our own family's rhythms and rituals, including recipes handed down to both parents. Some holidays so grim when we lived through childhood cancer, we didn't think we'd find a reason to be grateful, and yet we did. Some so comfortable and casual and full of good company, all we can recall are hours of conversation and games, cooking together, too-full stomachs and long naps. Some so desperate, we almost cannot breathe. And ones like this. Better than we expected...but not quite...well, we're glad we made it through the day, and we're glad to move on to the next event.

Some holes can be patched. Some seams can be mended. Sometimes, the fabric is so worn in places, so damaged in others, that it has to be cut apart and turned into something new. 

Maybe that's what we're trying to do every month, and each holiday. Give a new shape and purpose to what's left. Connect it to new fabrics that are weaving into this storybook quilt that we're putting together, block by block, as life continues. 

Sometimes the weather permits a bike ride for dad. Or a brisk walk for mom. Sarah runs track this season, in addition to several hours of dance each week. Mom hoolahoops (yes, you read correctly)! 

Sarah is often singing, between chorus, BelCanto and voice lessons. Or playing the saxophone. Dad practices piano, a promise he made to himself, and a challenge he took on this year...perhaps even a form of meditation. Mom...uh, she listens a lot. And hoolahoops some more.

Sarah focuses on her honors classes, and works as a teaching assistant in dance classes. Dad and his business partners strategize to keep their architectural company viable and focused on long-term projects in a tough economy; yet he finds time to volunteer as a Rotarian. Mom freelances, writes and continues the work of Bright Happy Power, the foundation our family runs to help other children and families in crisis. 

Yes, we need mending. We're all broken in some way. Lost. Confused. Uncertain of what comes next. Each of us handles grief and stress and trauma differently, and we can be quite isolated from each other, and in need of different forms of comfort and healing.

And yet, we're each finding ways to move along: pedaling, running, walking, hooping. We're all finding some music and rhythm in our lives: voice, dance, sax, piano. We're all finding purpose: studying, teaching, working, mentoring, writing, serving others. 

It all takes practice. Attention. Lots of mistakes and missteps and miscommunication occur along the way. Sometimes, we're just too exhausted, overwhelmed, angry or sad to find a way. Other times, we have the energy and focus to make the effort. Mostly, we keep trying.

As the month closes, we know there is mending to be done. Stitch by stich...with threads and tape. Through movement. And music. And talk. And touch. Each gesture forms a small part of a larger narrative.

There's no pattern for what we're trying to make of our lives now...as individuals, or as a family. Who knows what will grow out of our losses, and challenges, and our responses to them? From inside the heart of this wounded family, we cannot see what will come, or the size or shape it will be. What story will the quilt tell, someday when each haphazard square is connected to the ones that came before and after it? We don't know. Not yet.

The journey continues.